


The Closed Encounters Affair

by MariaPriest



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 17:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaPriest/pseuds/MariaPriest
Summary: The agents are trapped in a warehouse filled with bombs about to explode.





	The Closed Encounters Affair

**Author's Note:**

> This could be read as pre-slash or not - reader's choice.

"I appreciate your concern for my welfare, Mr. Solo," said the president of a company that made firearms for THRUSH. "I have no such misgivings about my client. We have ... an arrangement that for me is quite lucrative and safe. You see, I know where the bodies are buried. So to speak. I am protected."

Napoleon Solo nodded. "That may be so, Mr. Schmitt, but people who deal with THRUSH usually find themselves regretting it."

"That is if they survive," Illya Kuryakin added. "The organization is composed of ruthless people who think nothing of ending someone's life if that person displeases them. Contracts are meaningless." The Russian, uncomfortable in the man's presence from the start, had come to despise Schmitt's too-familiar arrogance and condescension. The man may be second-generation American but his attitude was all Nazi.

"Gentlemen, please, no more. I intend to continue to do business with THRUSH. And I intend to have some … fun with you." Schmitt pressed a button on his desk.

The agents shot each other warning looks and reached for their weapons. A ceiling tile above where they sat opened, exposing two long metal tubes.

They were unconscious from tranquilizer darts before their Specials cleared their holsters.

oOo - _NS_

Napoleon slowly became aware of the smell of gunpowder and creosote and of his hands cuffed behind his back. His stomach threatened to revolt but a few deep breaths calmed it. He chanced opening his eyes.

He found himself in what appeared to be a warehouse. There were gun crates of varying sizes and piles of spent shell casings. _Test range_ , he thought. He was lying in a graveyard of shattered mannequins. It reminded him of the fractured bodies he saw in Korea. Mostly, it reminded him of Henry, the Cheyenne Indian and his best friend. Nausea went from mild to severe.

Shuddering, he shoved that memory back into the Korea mind vault. A few more deep breaths decreased the queasiness to tolerable levels. Now to find Illya, but first, out of the handcuffs.

He worked the left cuff link into position to blast through the chain. That he still had the cuff links and probably the rest of the ordnance he carried told him Schmitt's security team wasn't THRUSH. He ignored the minor singe of his flesh.

He stood. The increased dizziness almost felled him but he kept his feet with effort. He'd have to take his time looking for his partner. 

"Illya!" he shouted. A millisecond later, the air squealed with the activation of a PA system.

"Now that you've acclimated yourself and even freed your hands," Schmitt said, "I have started the timer on the explosives that will take out this obsolete building. You have a choice, Mr. Solo. You may leave now, unmolested, or attempt to find Mr. Kuryakin. He is, um, _stuffed_ in one of the containers before you. The explosives will begin to detonate one by one in just under five minutes." There was a pause then a laugh. "He is gagged as well, so don't expect him to respond." The PA system shut down with a snap.

Napoleon's heart pounded in his chest. There was only one choice as far as he was concerned. He shuffled as fast as he could to the closest crate.

oOo - _IK_

He is sharing a dark, tight hidey-hole created by the German bombs with Lana and Misha. He's here because Mama told him to take his little brother and sister to hide, to protect them.

He watches the Nazi troops march into his bombed-out street. He stiffens when he hears a Nazi bellow. How does the devil know his name? Misha and Lana squirm behind him. He pats them with shaky hands. He must protect them. He can because he's seven and a big boy. They are babies.

oOo - _NS_

Several times, Napoleon almost slipped on casings and plastic body parts before he reached the crates. His head was spinning one way, his stomach the other, impairing his ability to track the time left.

 _Which one? There are so many_. Schmitt said "stuffed," so the crate must be small and Illya had a history of fitting into small spaces. "Illya! Make some noise so I can find you!" he shouted. He waited for a few seconds he didn't have to spare.

Nothing.

oOo - _IK_

_Devil is getting closer!_ He resists whimpering, but Misha and Lana are trembling badly and likely to whine and cry. He slaps his hands over their mouths; their teeth bite into his wrists.

oOo - _NS_

Napoleon knocked on crate after crate, straining his ears to hear flat sounds that would indicate a full container, hopefully filled with his friend. When the dizziness became overwhelming, he continued his quest on his knees. He paused only to retch.

oOo - _IK_

He is suffocating with fear and dead air as the Nazi draws ever closer. He will fight with all he has to save Misha and Lana. His father and their distant gypsy relatives have taught him well the art of defense of self and the innocent. He will try to kill the devil.

oOo - _NS_

Napoleon almost missed the dull thud of a long gun crate. Hurriedly, he shoved the one atop it to the floor. He raised the lid and there he was - a dirty rag in his mouth, hands behind his back, knees bent up to his chest, eyes narrowed with defiance and murderous intentions.

"Illya, it's Napo-" A foot to his head knocked him down.

oOo - _IK_

He feels elated having struck down the German who knows his name. He screams, " _Demon natsi!_ " but he can't hear the words. Lana and Misha pull at his arms so hard he can't get out to end the devil's life. He keeps screaming and still there is no sound.

oOo - _NS_

Napoleon struggled to his feet, the tornado in his head at its worst yet. He kept his distance from Illya's flailing legs. He knew if he could understand what Illya was saying, he could reason with the man.

Or not. _Damn. Flashback._

He staggered to the head of the crate. Though Illya's position kept him from turning his legs into lethal weapons, he was still able to make painful contact with Napoleon's head and chest.

Finally he was close enough to slug Illya just enough to knock him senseless momentarily. He quickly pulled the gag out. "Wherever you are, my friend, come back. We need to get out of here. _Now_."

oOo - _IK_

He's dazed but recoups quickly, the need to protect his charges fueling his recovery.

" _Nyet! Demon natsi!_ "

There is an explosion. He looks in that direction and sees his family in the doorway with flames devouring them as they scream in agony.

_"MAMA! PETRO!"_

oOo - _NS_

The pain, desolation, and despair in Illya's raw howl kicked Napoleon in his gut. He wanted to comfort his friend, tell him it was just a memory, but they were out of time.

Another bomb exploded, and Illya wailed again. Napoleon roughly pulled him from the box and slung him over his shoulder.

oOo - _IK_

" _Nyet! YA ne zalyshu Lanu i Misha!_ "* Illya shouts at the top of his lungs.

He fights, to no avail, for his release from the strong arms restraining him. Misha and Lana fade from his sight but not from his heart.

oOo - _NS_

Napoleon thanked his reliable companion, adrenaline, for his ability to stay upright and hang on to the perpetual motion machine named Illya. He got them to a door he hoped opened to the outside when another bomb exploded. His knees threatened to give way when he realized that was very close to where Illya had been sequestered.

Luck was still with him. The door opened outward so shouldering through it was a bit easier. Now they were outside as well. He ran as fast as he could with his load as the explosions started coming closer together.

An especially violent detonation threw them to the ground. They landed in a tumble. They came to rest on their sides, a few inches apart and facing each other.

Once Illya caught his breath, he said, "Napoleon." It was a whisper and an apology.

"Good to have you back, _tovarishch_."

They watched the conflagration in silence for a few minutes, too drained to move, much less remove Illya's handcuffs.

oOo - _IK_

Illya's eyes stung with unshed tears.

"You never cried for your mother and Petro, did you?" Napoleon asked.

Illya sighed and continued to watch the white and blue flames. "There were other … more pressing matters."

Napoleon nodded. "There isn't anything pressing at the moment," he said gently. "I think there's time now."

He turned his gaze to his friend. He saw in the sad, compassionate eyes the permission to release what he'd kept locked away for decades - his soul-consuming grief, his failure to protect Lana and Misha. His body began to quiver. He rolled toward Napoleon and buried his face in his shoulder and sobbed.

oOo - _NS_

Napoleon, still too woozy and exhausted to remove Illya's restraints, barely had the energy to put his arm around his grieving friend, whose body trembled like an earthquake. He rested his cheek against Illya's hair.

_It's time for me, too._

He let the tears flow for Illya, his family, and - finally - Henry.

the end  
© 2018

*"No! I will not leave Lana and Misha!" [at least according to the English-to-Ukrainian translator I used]

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to CoriKay for her excellent suggestions.  
> Response to a Section VII challenge with prompts of stuffed and white.  
> I'm planning on expanding this short story, but don't hold your breath waiting for it.


End file.
